THIS WEEK’S L WORD VOCABULARY:
Fiction: Stranger, and more painful, than truth.
Milk and eggs: If you’re Bette or Tina, these foods are a part of a nutritious breakup.
Homosexual conduct: Tasha’s crime, as far as her commanding officer is concerned.
THIS WEEK’S GUEST-BIANS: Kristanna Loken is surprised; Annabella Sciorra is disappointed; Bruce Davison is devastated; Cybill Shepherd is awakened.
I may never recover — Kit is moaning. And sweating. The camera is beholding her from above and is turning slowly — much more slowly than my head is spinning. Kit is clearly having sex, but not in the way you might expect. Someone’s down there. Not just someone: That is a feminine hand caressing Kit’s face and clutching her shoulder. Someone female is down there. And it’s not me, dammit!
There’s a good tune in the background: "Magic Tree" by Kristen Price. But the music that is composed of the shuffle of Kit’s sighs, not to mention the swerve of her brows and the sheen on her skin, is even better.
But then it all comes crashing down, and not in the way you were hoping. Kit says, "No, no. Just stop." And a very defeated, sweaty Papi flops onto the bed next to Kit and sighs.
Papi flexes and pops her jaw. She looks at Kit despondently.
I’m so conflicted: I’m giddy at the thought of Papi losing at her own game, but I’m a little disappointed because I got my hopes up for a minute there. I know, I know: Kit’s straight — we’ve been warning you about that in the podcasts, Papi. I don’t really think Kit will (as Cary Grant might say) just turn gay all of a sudden. In fact, that would be an absolute transgression on the part of the writers. But I like vicarious pleasure as much as the next voyeur, and for a moment there, I was very pleased.
My pleasure quickly turns to distaste as the dialogue turns trite:
Kit: It’s not you.
Papi: This has never happened to me before, Kit.
Come on. That was such a golden opportunity for comedy. Kit should have said, "I told you to change the batteries first!" or "What kinda yoga did you say this was again?" Or — because we mustn’t forget Kit’s favorite word — "Girl. Girl, next time try your other left."
But it’s, like, a big deal to Papi the playa, you know? And like every well-trained woman, Kit decides to comfort her lover instead of feeling the bummer that is an elusive orgasm.
Kit: You … you are the sexiest, hottest, baddest, muthaf—–’ hot, sexy bitch …
Papi: Then what?
Kit: I guess … I guess I’m not a lesbian.
Now that is some comedy gold: Kit’s shrug and expression and tone of voice are like, "I know, I know, I left the cap off the toothpaste again." Hee.
An adorable motorcycle ride — Yeah, I know, adorable is a weird word to put next to motorcycle, but not in this case. It looks like Tasha has been giving Alice a lesson. Alice seems to be doing very well — after all, most newbies find it hard to balance with someone on the back of the bike, but she’s cruising right along.
Tasha helps her park and put down the kickstand.
Alice: Pretty good, right? Pretty good?
Tasha: [hesitating and laughing] Yeah.
Alice: Come on! I didn’t kill you.
Tasha: Yeah. S—. This time.
Alice, I think you could have totaled the thing and Tasha would still be grinning at your cuteness.
Alice has a surprise for Tasha. Well, it was supposed to be a surprise, but Alice is too excited and simply has to tell her right now. She wants to take Tasha to Mexico, to a spa and the beach and (I’ll bet) new heights of ecstasy. Tasha just says, "Mmm" and lets Alice try to convince her.
Tasha: That sounds … really expensive, Alice.
Alice: Don’t worry about the money. You got yourself a daddy.
I don’t know whose belly laugh is biggest: Tasha’s, Alice’s, or mine. Tasha actually doubles over. I think she may have even slapped her knee. I love love love these two together.
Alice suggests that they go around the first of May, when her Web site’s "done." Oh, Alice. Surely you realize that a Web site’s never done. But here’s hoping your fictional Chart gets off the ground faster, and in a less broken way, than the real one did.
Alice jangles the motorcycle keys; Tasha jokes that she’s "too fancy now." Alice says, "Max is fast; I wish I had him full time," which might sound like a complete non sequitur (and possibly something quite sordid) if you were just overhearing this conversation. Even if you do know who Max is and what’s going on, it doesn’t exactly sound like natural banter. That’s the trouble with anvils: They’re heavy.
As they chuckle their way across the street, a nearby car suddenly accelerates and honks and swerves and seems to be aiming right for them. What? Are they near a bank or a bar or a demolition derby or something? Tracy Morgan, is that you?
But it’s more than just a random reckless driver: The mayhem triggers a flashback for Tasha. As she pushes Alice out of the way and they fall to the ground, Tasha sees Iraq in her mind’s eye. There are tanks and bombs and sand and a dead girl. Why, oh why? Can’t we have one light-hearted conversation that doesn’t immediately give way to drama and doom? Does every dog and tennis star have to die, Mama Chaiken? Must every relationship end in shambles and every addict spiral downward? Oh, the humanity!
Alice collects herself enough to yell, "F— you!" to the careening car as it drives on. The driver flips her off and says, "F— you, dyke."
Alice: I’ll show you a f—in’ dyke.
Some comeback, Alice. I think you should have gone with a classic "Your mom" retort instead. (Actually, that might not even be what Alice said — the captions refused to help me out on this one. It’s OK, Leisha; I love it when you improvise.)
Alice’s hand has been injured in some way. She asks Tasha if she’s OK, but Tasha is still kind of stuck in her flashback. She collects herself and says she’s OK, but she doesn’t really seem OK. She grabs Alice by her injured hand and pulls her up. "Ow," says Alice.
Talk about a plot device — where the hell did that car come from? Did Leonard put a hit out on Alice? Who was the driver? Was he aiming for Alice or Tasha? Where’s Abraham Zapruder when you need him?